Duel of Fates (Azrael vs Arrbi - Duel for the Title of Mand'alor - Mandalorians Faction)

[Arrbi Betna]

It was time.

A time for battle. A time for war. A time for crossed blades and spilled blood. Two men would stand upon the sands of this remote island, a volcano stranded amid a great ocean upon the face of Manda'yaim. Two men would stand, but only one would rise from the ordeal. Only one could step away victorious.

It was time.

A time not just for combat, but for fate. For the future. The future of the Mandalorians themselves. Of Mandalore. Fate had twisted and twined around, knotting its way through the hours and days and months and years upon years to this point. This time among times and this place among places. Today one combatant would rise and, with them, Mandalore would rise, or fall, it's future dependent on the actions of its new leader.

For this was no simple duel, no simple combat. This was no fight to avenge a slight or determine the ownership of property. No, this was far more important, far greater than such a thing. The title of Mand'alor, the title of Sole Ruler of the Mandalorian people, was at risk. The winner would earn the mantle, the loser would kneel before it. Whoever took the title would lead the Mando'ade forwards to whatever fate awaited them.

Betna sat at the edge of the ring, his armor glinting dully in the tropical sunlight. He'd put out the challenge to Azrael, the current Mand'alor, and had seen it accepted. This sandy island with it's lonely volcano, Ijaat's retreat where he forged and smithed, was to be the arena.

Before him was a floor of smooth sand, fine grain and pale white in the sunlight. It would give a firm enough footing for the combatants as they fought and would easily soak up any blood spilled upon it, making sure both warriors would not slip due to chance or carelessness. Around him he knew were others, men and women of the various clans, who had arrived to attend, to watch. It was how things had always been done, would continue to be done. It was tradition. It was their way of life.

Mand'alor was not a title passed from father to son or elected by a committee. It was not an honor worn by the meek or those who could not defend themselves. Mand'alor was as its name was: Sole Ruler. The Sole Ruler of the Mandalorian people must be a warrior, tried and tested in the harshest of battles. He must defeat all opposition, all claimants to the title to hold it. It was a title passed not from father to son, but from victorious warrior to victorious warrior. Only the strongest survived in Mandalorian society. Only the strongest could hold the title of Mand'alor.

Betna had challenged not out of a desire for himself, not to aspire to greatness or out of ambition. He challenged to lead his people. To bring them along the path he felt was the correct one. One that lead to growth, to prosperity, and to opportunity. Was he certain of the path? No, he was not, for none could be certain of fate. He did, however, strongly believe that the path he sought to guide his people, the sons and daughters of Mandalore, was the best option they, as a culture, had.

And so he sat upon the edge of the ring, his weapons at his feet and his helmet upon his lap and waited. Azrael would come and they would, between them, determine the fate of the Mandalorians.

For this was how it had always been, and always would be.

[member="Azrael"] @All Mandalorians

[OOC - Equipment]

Spoiler

Beskar beskar'gam
Dinu'ul
Shuk'buy'ce
Cabur be Mando'ade

 

[Aithne Charr]

Solan watched away from the ring with nothing on him but his viola coat and his body perched on a rise to leave him able to see the ring itself. He was curious who would win this out and his first time in the mandalorians as a clansman of Clan Garon. He was lacking fully the entire language, though he picked up a good deal by now simply from talking to them on a constant basis the last few years. This though, a challenge, the last thing he saw of this sort had not been for a very long time. The Recordings of one of the old empires coups as given to him by his very generous employer. Well former.​

​

This was more ceremonial though, he could tell that much and waiting for a few long moments he wondered who would indeed win. Things were strange, off. Its like he could tell there was something wrong in the air and he had to think about it for a few long moments. Something seemed off in the air but maybe it was just getting used to the voices not being there anymore. He would need to thank her for removing the blasted memories that she did as it let him focus more clearly on things. Or when it came to times like these, when there was silence in his mind. He needed someone's emotions to flare and soon to fill that void.​

 

[Malcom Renolds]

Malcom had arrived in his freshly cleaned and polished armor to see the battle that would soon decide the fate of the Mandalorian people. It was true his culture produced a very rough and tumble sort of people. While having full capacity to design, build, and create as well as any other people. Mandalorians were a breed apart in that only the strongest led, yet anyone could try for that role if they felt they could attain victory. Time saw the Mandalorians on the cusp of change. Toward what, Malcom couldn't tell. But you could feel it in the air. The winds of change were blowing. And it would be interesting to see who'd lead the charge after today.

Having landed his ship a respectable distance away so as not to disturb either of the combatants or those gathered to watch, Malcom made his way toward the side of the arena with his slave [member="Kenna Raine"] not far behind him. "Now you will see how problems are solved the Mandalorian way, Kenna. It may not be the politically correct way. But it works. This is why the Mandalorian people have been respected and even feared throughout the galaxy for all these centuries and millenia. Because we accept nothing but the very best. Not only in our leaders, but in everything!"

Although Malcom indeed had a sentimental side for his heritage. He didn't very often share it with anyone. He knew who he was. He knew who his people were. And he didn't usually feel the need to try to explain any of them to outsiders. Still, the importance of this occasion had his blood stirring. And he couldn't help but let some of that pride shine forth.

 

[Azrael]

[media]https://soundcloud.com/toor98/manowar-the-crown-and-the-ring[/media]

The Crown and the Ring


It had been expected. Long before Azrael was sent word that his long standing Field Marshal requested an audience - he knew. Hours had been spent standing in the sacred hall of heroes, gazing at the statues that immortalized the leaders of Manda'yaim dating back hundreds and thousands of years. Perhaps to glean some hidden truth in their mere visage, or contemplate the answers the Mand'alors of the past had asked themselves. For a boy, adopted into the Manda, to rise through the ranks and eventually earn the strength and respect of the Mandalorian people, following in a legacy that dated back millenniums was a concept far too awesome to grasp. There was a deep seeded respect for his brothers and sisters, for a family that had taken him in when he had none - when he would have been left to die. Long before Azrael knew a word of Mando'a, he had chosen this path himself, if even for a brief time - baring the crest of a decommissioned war ship as a symbol for the tenacity and self-reliant nature of the legendary vode. A simple salvager with no family and no name to carry his legacy on - it was he who was eventually called by the planet, the star, and the ancestors that had gone before to join this cavalcade of warriors renowned throughout the Galaxy. Still, the half-blood knew that something was coming, someone was going to see what the young man could not hide forever. They would piece together the ideal that they could stand and take the reigns of Mandalore, shadowing his own reign. It was the way of their people, and as such a thought resting on his mind constantly. Who would challenge to take up the mantle, to prove Azrael either worthy or unfit to continue. Yet even as it was expected, and accepted, it also made him think long and hard about the choices he had made.

In an ever changing Galaxy, riddled with cause and effect reaching into every star system and planetary body from one end to the other, Azrael's life had changed time and time again. The faces and the names of those that had supported him, tested him, loved him, and feared him played through the salvager's mind in the morning of the appointed confrontation. A morning in which he had sought solace from his responsibilities and took to an old stomping ground where he had thrown his first real punch, and learned the lessons from the first instructors that would shape him into a Mandalorian warrior. Remembering those who had passed, and those were still with him, while fists flung themselves into targets, and his blade cut and cleaved wood and reed in twain with every movement and swipe. Azrael owed a great deal to many people in his life, for the help and education he'd gleaned from all of them. Friend and foe alike - he'd found something to learn, some new lesson to be taught, and each lesson came with a face, forever burned into his brain. The tradition demanded the respect of a true battle, something that couldn't be taken in either haste or in arrogance. This duel was a staple of their culture, and it was harrowed with great caution that any who challenged for this title was innately aware of it's grave importance.

[member="Arrbi Betna"] was a man his equal in many aspects, and in some, superior to his own accolades. Someone he had counted on time and again and for good reason. The brave and stalwart pilot was unquestionably gifted in many areas, and was a resolute Mandalorian in every sense of the word. Head of his own clan, with a family that both fought beside and counted on his presence. He had issued his challenge with both honor, respect, but certain intent. It was not lightly that anyone would challenge for this right, nor would enter into such an arrangement without proper thought. Though as much respect as he had for the pilot, his personal feelings were not a part of this pre-ordained bout. He couldn't see him as an ally, but now as a rival - as he would anyone who went toe to toe with him for this honor. If there was not full commitment to this fight, neither warrior would feel satisfied with the outcome, and it would cast shame on the very name of the title itself. Neither himself or Betna would ever let that happen - and that they could both agree on. Whatever the outcome though - Azrael knew that the warfare waged today was something truly important, and with the vode in attendance to witness this event, it would reshape this chapter of the Mandalorian legacy anew.

Separated by ocean currents, the so named 'Iron Home' was a staple of innovation and ingenuity by a weapons and armor manufacturing plant that was dishing out superior technology to the vode for years. The volcanic island covered in lush green hues also featured a rather eclectic terrain, ranging from desert sands, to thick forests, and rocky mountains. Everything an anything in this climate for the eye to behold. Gathered around the sandy circle, where the combatants would square off in single combat, a collection of finely armored warriors stood, sat, and watched in earnest expectation for the coming attraction. Mandalorian fighting was not just something they thrived in participating, but also in watching. Any brawl, large or small was normally met with some sort of spectacle, and often in loud boisterous tones to herald glorious combat. This was no different, save for the turn-out which hosted a litany of clansmen in full armor array, plus some very special friends of both parties that had come to bare witness. As sobering as it was, there was also much excitement, especially when the roar of rockets created a klaxon of sound overhead. Sweeping over the tree tops, and ripping across the landscape, the approach of the Mand'alor was trumpeted by jetpack's roar.

Four members of M.A.S.S. streaked across the sky as the fifth member taking up the middle cast it's streamlined shadow upon the ground, before arching up and dropping down in a controlled descent. Azrael's form then dropped immediately coming to a halt in a cloud of disrupted sand. Dipping into a full crouch with the length of his bionic arm crashing into the earth beneath with a metal tinge to the abrupt noise. Clouds of sand kicked up in his wake as bits of scorched grains floated from the wake of his jetpack thrusters. He rarely made such a splashy entrance, but he wasn't about to pull any punches, or mitigate a show for those that had gathered. Rising to his feet in silence, and disconnecting the straps that held his jetpack, the salvager approached the edge of the ring to store the portable unit before approaching his own family while removing his helmet. [member="Anastasia Rade"], his beloved sister was given a firm hug, followed by the woman he loved more than any in the Galaxy; Devorah - the Jedi was offered a muted Keldabe Kiss, touching forehead to her own before giving a kiss to her lips in silence. Moments passed and the Mand'alor turned to look at Betna, gray eyes fixed on the warrior that had called this challenge - but let him make the first pass at a speech.


[member="Preliat Mantis"] | [member="Strider Garon"] | [member="Devorah Khaladan"] | [member="Ordo"] | [member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Navio"] | [member="Kila Cadau"]

 

[Arrbi Betna]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55xMklqZhLE​

​

Betna remained seated a moment longer in the sand, his weapons at his feet. The tools were still wrapped in soft leather and bundled gently together. He heard the sounds of the rockets over head and saw [member="Azrael"] fall to the ground, guided by jetpack and landing with the grace of long use. As the Mand'alor greeted his sibling, Betna stood and dusted the sand and grit from his armor. He understood the cue the other man had given him and nodded once in understanding, but did not yet speak.

Instead, he stooped and opened the bundle, spreading the leather out on the sand. Now exposed to the sunlight, the masterwork blade and ax glinted in the sunlight. He picked up the leather belt and began fastening it around his waist, taking care in each movement.

"I did not challenge out of ambition," he said quietly, but audibly after a moment as he tied the length of leather making up the end of the belt to keep it from hampering his movements. "But rather out of tradition."

The belt now secured he picked up the sword in its scabbard. Cabur be Mando'ade found itself attached to his belt a moment later, the leather of both sheath and belt creaking silently.

"I did not challenge out of greed or avarice," he continued a moment later as he picked up the ax laying upon the sheath. He slid the weapon handle first into the appropriate loop attached to the belt, leaving the weapon hanging by the head off his waist within easy reach and use. "For I have no wish for fame or fortune. No reason for vengeance or spite. No need to prove myself in battle or to show my prowess as a warrior."

The weapons now attached, he took from the leather a simple tube of metal. Now empty, the leather was rolled up and set aside and away, placed so it was outside of the ring. Betna held the Dinu'ul shield in his left hand, but left it deactivated.

"I challenged because I feel it is required of me," he said a moment later, his voice still subdued, but strong. This as a moment in time important to the both of them just as much as it was important to the Mandalorian people. To shout insults or declare bloody vengeance when none was needed would only cheapen the gravity of the situation. It would render it hollow and empty, worthless in many regards except as a footnote in history regardless of the victor. Tradition dictated that honorable combat occur. Common sense dictated that honor extend to all aspects of the combat, not just the meeting itself.

"You have led our people to greatness. You stood when no one else could and took up the mantle when it was left tragically vacant. You refused to back down in the face of danger, bravely fighting our enemies and battling them as a champion of the Mandalorians."

He paused a moment, his hand upon the ornate head of Shuk'buy'ce. He'd thought long and hard on what to say, on how to answer, on how to speak in this moment.

"But a new age is coming. One that we have not seen since long before what recorded history we have left to us. I do not doubt that you would lead our people to the best of your abilities. I only doubt the path ahead. I fear such a route will lead our people into history only to fade, conquered by others or forgotten and left to fade away. Enemies are at the gates of our territory and entire galactic entities crumble away, new empires rising from the ashes only to fall in turn. The galaxy is entering a dark age and our people must adapt or perish. I fear that this path we now tread will end us, given time.

And so I feel I must challenge you, Mand'alor Azrael. You are a worthy leader and a renowned warrior, but it is my belief that the direction you take us will end us. For our people, I feel it is my duty to challenge you and attempt to bring us back, to push us forward and to adapt us to this new age. To attempt to ensure the longevity of our people. For our families. For our children.

Par Mando'ade, jii bal darasuum."

 

[Kenna Raine]

The armor given to her fit her quite well and she kind of liked it as well as this training classes. She was learning how to properly protect herself. It kind of made her feel powerful in a way. "The winner of this is the sole ruler? Is this a match to the death?" Kenna questioned turning to look to Malcolm. He seemed very excited about all of this and to be sharing it with her. She had seen gladiator fights to the death before against slaves fighting for freedom. She expected this to be similar to that.

"When I was little I helped tend to my parents farm and all the animals. I come from farmers not warriors." She paused as she watched the other Mandalorian fighter arrive. "Would you be willing to teach me more about your Mandalorian Heritage?" She questioned hoping it wasn't too much. If she would be spending her time and more than likely the rest of her life with she would like to know more about him. There was nothing wrong in her mind with being friendly.

[member="Malcom Renolds"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Ijaat stood... For once, the smith had put aside humility, and actually reveled in the monster [member="Reverance"] had made him. Surging from the sand where he had sat in the shade of a leafy tree, as he stood he changed. For most, the putting on of their armor became an almost personal ritual. A ceremony and journey into a certain state of mind and being. For Ijaat, it was so as well, but in an intrinsically different way. There was never any removal of his armor, not after the dark times in Selvaris, never any change back to just the man. It was always with him, quite literally in his blood and bone now. So as he stood, his skin seemed to crack, to bleed, to rend and rip as a flow of colors seeped from his pores and the rents in his tissue.

First a gleaming suit of corded like underarmor weave covered the raw and ruined tissue, and the host stumbled a bit as he rose. A heart-beat later plates of dully gleaming greys and blacks layered over the raw, muscle like suit, clambering from within him like a parasite as he grimaced, the face plate flowing obscenely from tear ducts and ears and even out of his mouth, clanking into place with a finality that almost sounded to Ijaat like a coffin nail being put into place. The armor he wore was almost sinister, and devoid of the makers usual ornamentation and ostentation that spoke of his joy in the craft. Whatever this was he now wore, it was something of cold efficiency and necessity.

Unlike with other peoples, he did not stalk forward to give some grand speech and spectacle. This was not his way, and it was in his opinion not the Mandalorian way. Or at the least, it should not be. Jerking the blade Jatharesa from it's sheath, he stalked around the ring once, the corsuca gem inlaid sword, older than perhaps even his own people, resting on his shoulder in almost a parade formation. Almost, if not for the casual slouch and rolling gait the spoke of a man long enough acquainted with such things that there was no need to proclaim his lethality. And by the very lack of proclaiming, proclaimed it even louder. The trip was methodical, purposeful, and a few lingering here and there beyond the circle he traversed were put back in line with the others by a stopping of his progress and a cold look until they moved.

The end of his walk was a simple thing, he came back to the point he had started at, under the shaded tree, and the sword slid from his shoulder to pierce deeply into the loose sand underneath, glittering as he stood behind it, the face-plate of his armor peeling and rolling back almost like a ripple in the ocean waves as it disappeared, revealing his face. His only address was to nod to the two beginning to face off, having marked off the parameters of the combatants ring by his walk. The rest they knew, and the bared sword in the sand stood as both promise and warning of woe to any who would think of interference. Now was the time for them to settle this the old way, with whatever honor and skill they possessed.

[member="Arrbi Betna"] | [member="Solan Charr"] | [member="Malcom Renolds"] | [member="Azrael"] | [member="Kenna Raine"]

 

[Strider Garon]

Strider Garon watched as his Mand'alor [member="Azrael"] make his entrance. The sole ruler had gracefully accepted the challenge for rights to rule. He was a man of honor, code and had earned the old man's respect many times over. Strider had served many Mand'alors in his long service record and lifespan. All brought their own unique styles of leadership, strong in personalities and their own vision for the clans future but Azrael was a leader he wished to continue to follow. Many have wondered why Strider himself had never taken the title for himself. The answer was easy for he would reply 'The hours were horrible, there was no job security, the pay sucked and the position itself was thankless to boot".

Strider would of appeared behind Ana, the pink clad mando, as her brother embraced her. There was no words the old man could describe that moment of true sibling love and devotion as such an embrace could be their last. Garon would have his helmet off and magnetically clamped to his belt so Azrael would of seen the old man eyeing him. Strider would only nod in respect as he caught the glance, he didn't need to tell Mand'alor that he had his support for it was warranted ages ago. The hound was loyal in that aspect.

As Azrael turned away to face his challenger, Strider would take up position beside Anastasia showing solidarity and support for her brother. Any other day he would of been trying to weasel his way into her strider proof Chasity belt, but this was not the time nor the place for such antics. He would place a comforting not perverted hand upon her shoulder, giving proof that he was there to support her. His eyes would look up and past the beskar clad image of Mand'alor and towards his challenger, [member="Arrbi Betna"] . The young man was ambitious and righteously thought he was the man for the job. Garon respected that and who knows, he may be the man that could shield the mando'ade against the wave of chaos coming their way. Strider could of put his support behind the man if he did not believe Azrael was capable of such feat himself.

The speech was over and the old man had to give it to Betna, he has vision alright. "Az! Finish this quick. We have work to do!"

 

[Anastasia Rade]

She had seen many of these battles during her days. One had been when he had claimed the title amongst many other warriors. Ana had stood with her brother than and she stood with him now. The thought that he may lose today had crossed her mind and it made her stomach twist. The thought of the whole thing had been making her feel sick the past few days. Nobody knew, not even her husband. She didn't want to worry him. Ana understood why he wasn't here but she wished he was. She missed him when he was on a job.

Tightly she hugged her brother before letting him go so he could face his challenger while Strider took his place though for the moment she didn't notice. Ana was more focused on the fight which was about to take place and with it the speech. She suspected much blood to be spilled but she hoped the wounds sustained would be ones that could heal.

As Strider placed a hand on her shoulder Ana turned to give him a light smile. He had tried several times to get her into bed to no avail but beyond that he was a very kind man. They had talked before and one time she had even went undercover as his daughter. She was glad to have a warrior such as him on her side.

[member="Azrael"] [member="Strider Garon"] [member="Arrbi Betna"]

 

[Azrael]

Equipment:

• Solus Irud Beskar'gam
• E'tad Kal
• Besbriik
• Twin Beskade

The winds of change had sought to conspire into a new malevolent storm that was breaking all over the Galaxy. It had touched the lands of the Republic, the Jedi, their silver offshoots, and even the Mandalorian people. From the heart of the Galaxy itself this evil was spreading, joining with other dark clouds of change and dipping their proverbial talons into every facet the stars had to offer. This was not simply war on the horizon, but on every angle the reach and breadth of the Dar'Jetti had sought to swallow and envelope every sector and every rim of their place in the universe. Such a change had ripple effects, cascading through the stars and touching the lives of anyone who had sense enough to look up from their own home and gaze into the turbulent chasm shading every star in the path of this united force. It was almost poetic in a sense, something to admire for a people that had been notoriously selfish and power mad - they had marshaled themselves under a single focused spirit. No one had opposed them with success, not even the Mandalorian people had slowed their advance, as every world they went after - they took; and every world they took, they kept. Now these winds of change had saw fit to whip through Keldabe and the rest of Mandalore itself until the change of new leadership was challenged and voiced.

Simultaneously, the words that fell from the Field Marshal's lips came in a careful cadence while one lone Mandalorian warrior made a trek around the circle, marking a path of contest with each measured step. The circle itself a hallmark and homage to the first ring Azrael had ever first stepped into. Instruction on Mandalore was fierce and very competitive, layered with danger and frought with the purpose. A purpose to turn every native born and adopted vod into true Mandalorian warriors. Whether they would continue this training in the front lines of war, or keep a close watch on their home while going about other business - that was their own decision. The salvager had come to this planet under the watchful gaze of two very close friends; of whom had seen promise in the youth. It seemed fitting that a challenge for the highest honor in the Mando'ade be at a place similar to where he had started out. A journey that had come metaphorically full circle. It was at this juncture though that the half-blood realized all that he had gained, and all that he still owed to the Manda, for taking a life that was meaningless to a scrapyard - and carving it into the reigning leader of the Mandalorian people. The shift of his gray eyes moved to fully lock onto Betna, now that Ijaat had ended his promenade, while the last few sentences of the challenge echoed out for the vode to bear witness.

"Arrbi, Aliit Buir of clan Betna, you are a wise and honorable vod. I am proud to have had you stand by my side, and wage war against the aruetiise that have stood against us. You are correct, in that we face dark times ahead. This shadow that has risen does not slow, but only grows stronger. The Republic has proven incapable of even slowing their unholy goal, and they have shown their hand in recruiting other sectors of the Galaxy to rally with them. For the security of Mandalore, and the 'ade - all Mandalorians must unite into a solidified force, as we may be the only hope this Galaxy has remaining to quench the fire of the Dar'jetti's sinister passion." The voice of the Mand'alor freely speaking in bold and honest statements, replying to the challenger that stood before him girded now in weapons of warfare that glinted in the sunlight from their central star. The methodical approach to bringing out his arsenal showed great purpose and tenacity - which only served to heighten Azrael's respect for this challenge. There was no honor in blindly arriving at such a conclusion - and if he was going to face someone for the throne, he was glad to be facing Betna.

"However..." Azrael's voice grew a bit more grim, the shade of his regard darkened as he put aside his feelings of family and friends, and focused solely on the battle ahead of him. "...you underestimate our resolve, vod." The half-blood paused, letting those words sink in. "For as much as our legend has been told, the truth of our ancestors remain the reason why we will not only weather this storm, but we will thrive in the glorious battles to come. As long as one Mandalorian remains, the ideals and beliefs of our people that date back long before the old tales of the first collective Dar'Jetti, we will never cease to exist or fade from view." Slowly, the salvager slid from his left hip, a deep black beskad - something that he'd learned to use early on in his training. [member="Verz Horak"], a former Mand'alor in his own right had taken the time to personally tutor Azrael in the ways of the blade - hailing from his own experience and combined teaching of the Grand Master of the Jedi order. Simplistic and yet deadly, having been recently sharpened for this particular bout, the blade itself reflected only a portion of the sun's rays. "If your vision for the Mando'ade is worthy, then it will be proven here - but know this ner'vod, while others were unwilling, I stood in the gap - and I still stand."

At the last of his speech, Azrael unclasped the shoulder cape he only wore for ceremonial reasons and tossed it aside. The bionic hand still holding the buy'ce into the locked grip of his bicep slid the helm over his face and locked in into place. The crimson visor shone brilliantly while Azrael prepared. Slicing the blade in an arc with his right hand and wrist, before leveling it into a stance of combat. Both hands touched the grip, while his bionic rested just under the right, and his footing shifted, digging his boots into the sand to find firm purchase, shifting to the balls of his feet. Betna had issued the challenge, and Azrael was answering back. Despite being the one being challenged, there were no tradition dictating who would make the first move, allowing Azrael to begin a slow but methodical circling of his opponent, drawing his front to face him with every side step in the sand, gauging the pilot with his full and undaunted focus.


[member="Arrbi Betna"] | [member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Strider Garon"] | [member="Ijaat Akun"] | [member="Kenna Raine"] | [member="Malcom Renolds"] | [member="Solan Charr"]

 

[Anija Betna]

[member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Arrbi Betna"] | [member="Solan Charr"] | [member="Malcom Renolds"] | [member="Azrael"] | [member="Kenna Raine"] | [member="Strider Garon"] | [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] | [member="Ijaat Akun"]

She'd known for a while that this day was coming. But, she'd not known who the challenger would be. Not until that moment. There had been growing unrest for the past several months following the attack on Wayland. And even further back than that she'd heard whispers. There were many, including herself at times who questioned some of the things Azrael had guided them to do. And while that was his right, she was still more concerned with securing Mandalorian borders - they'd obviously done a poor job - as Wayland attested to. Nor had they been prepared for the might of the Primeval.

That had to change. Many times they had requested to strike back at the Primeval, and many times, they were told no. And yet.... maybe there was another way. Maybe a full-on invasion wasn't the answer. From what she knew, they weren't ready for that. Not yet. It was too soon after Wayland. She turned the thought over in her mind for a few moments as she watched Arrbi methodically... almost reverently unwrap his new weapons from the leather in which they lay. He seemed so calm and sure of himself in what he was about to do. And she knew it was not out of any sense that he felt he was better than anyone else. He was but one of many who wished to see the Mandalorians return to their roots, and to grow strong again. They needed to be able to stand against such threats as Primeval and the One Sith. And as history had shown in recent months, they could do neither right now.

Her gaze followed Arrbi as he moved to the side of the circle opposite Az. She had always been a passionate supporter of the Mandalorian way of life. She had grown up in it. And while some might not agree with this happening now, she too had felt that it was time. She moved quickly across the sand towards the edge of the circle behind Arrbi and softly called his name. She waited but a moment for him to turn before she embraced him tightly and lightly pressed her helmet against his. She could feel faint ripples in the Force from those around them, but she focused on blocking them out for now as she took a moment with her riduur. She knew well how this could end.

And so, here they were. Not in MandalMotors Hall, but on Beskar'yaim. She'd been here a few times before, and she felt it was a fitting location for the duel. The volcano rumbled a bit underfoot, and she could feel the heat of the sand even through her insulated boots. As she lifted her gaze to look across the sand, she spotted Ijaat across the cleared area. And as he stood, her mouth dropped open as she watched something flow and move over his skin before solidifying into armor. It wasn't something she could recall seeing before, and it looked somewhat painful. And what happened next left her staring at him for a moment. He'd remained rather withdrawn since he'd come back from.. wherever he had been. She'd not asked. As she watched, he moved across the sand like a stalking panther and paced off the boundary of the battle circle. Without so much as a word, he enforced that boundary with his stance and pointed glances.

Having had her moment with Arrbi, she was now back among the onlookers on his side of the circle, her thumbs tucked into her belt for a moment before she squatted down. She was in the front, so could still see well. it was as she was settling in to watch that Azrael responded to Arrbi, and she felt her attention riveted on the two in the circle as he spoke. her gaze drifted to Arrbi and then down along the curving line of onlookers which held just outside the boundary Ijaat had marked.

 

[Muad Dib]

The Mad knight had arrived to the private volcano island, an invitation to witness history, living history. The challenge of manda'lor had been issued and answered. And the home of [member="Ijaat Akun"] was to be the battle ground for the momentous occasion in mandalorian history. Walking to the makeshift arena Muad Dib, Sith Knight and Mando'ad mused over the combatants. Both were warriors in their own right. Both had a vision for the future. And both believed that they could usher in a new age of their people, steer the clans to conquest and victory, unite the vode and seek out, press, and destroy their enemies. And both were willing to lay down their lives in the ancient rite for the right, honor, and responsibility that the victor would acquire through victory. Tenacity, wisdom, cunning, and ferocity would be needed to win, and it would be needed to lead. And only one could be victorious.

The time had come to test the two verd of their mettle and see who had the 'right stuff'.

Easing into the ranks of the vode many of the mandalorians gave Muad a wide berth. He was dar'jetii and a monster even if he was one of them, a child of Manda'yaim. History had created a great distrust for force users and recent years and taught most mandos to despise, hate, and usually outright kill sith. But he was a rare exception. He had fought with the vode, then he had fought at their side. He had shared blood and sweat on the battlefield as well as in menial labot and had proven that he had a place among them, even if there was still resentment and distrust within many of them. But the difference with these, his people, was that even with the prejudice each and every one would fight with him, fight for him, and if needed, die with him. The mando'ade hated strongly, fought even stronger, but they believed that if you were mando, if you followed the Resol'nare, you were they brother or sister. You were family. And you do anything for family.

Near the edge Muad paused, his buy'ce hanging from the netting at his belt. Pulling a deathstick from his pocket he lit it and exhaled while looking at the two warriors who spoke one to another. Respect and honor, acknowledgement of each other's skill was easily seen in the movement and words of the two mandos. This wasn't about a grudge, or a woman, or pride, or for glory. It was for the future of the mando'ade, all the children of Mandalore.

On one side of the circle stood Ana and Strider, the other Anija. Pacing was Ijaat as he ensured that none be foolish enough to intercede or interrupt the battle that was to take place. The atmosphere was buzzing in the force as emotions ran high.

Muad Dib was no exception.

He well knew that after the battle here, war plans would be made. Striking at Sith and Primeval, allies with Republic and Silver Jedi, much hinged on who won for each had their opinions. But this, even though it be a contest between brothers, would be as brutal and unforgiving as any war. This was the future of the clans at stake and nothing would stop the vode from giving every ounce they had to secure the future each envisioned.

[member="Anija Betna"] @Azrael @Anastasia Rade [member="Strider Garon"] [member="Ijaat Akun"] [member="Kenna Raine"] [member="Arrbi Betna"] [member="Malcom Renolds"] [member="Solan Charr"]

 

[Soeht]

Outside the arena, Bestala watched the challenge unfold. She stood near the "middle" of the crowd - between those that gathered to supported Azrael and those that supported Betna. She listened to the speeches - yet made no comment to her comrade standing to the left of her. Given the weight of the fight's prize, the air was tense. Bestala was not alone among the crowd in wearing her battle armor in full.

Bestala stood as close to the arena as possible without crossing the line. She leaned forward - watching what would unfold with great attention.

Spoiler

[member="Halik Falkosi"]

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

It was interesting. Interesting that the culture Gilamar seemed so proud of also seemed as violent and redundant as the Sith and their philosophy of leadership. So many similarities, had they all been Force Users wielding lightsabers he wouldn't be able to tell the difference. He watched, obviously an outsider with no armor and no verd'goten. He did not consider these people "vode" like his "father" but Gilamar had insisted on him watching what transpired and how.

And so he watched from the sidelines as they both gave their speeches. Azrael definitely had superior reach simply by virtue of the weapons that dangled from his armor. He also presumable had more strength from his years of work as an on planet salvager, not to mention that powerful mechanical arm of his...But Betna seemed lithe and was more experienced in combat than Azrael, growing up Mandalorian, not merely being adopted into it.

This fight would be interesting to say the least.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

The Wolf's eyes lingered over the challenger as he paced around the ring, his typical harsh and piercing gaze. His eyes flickered to and fro, examining the other Mandalorians that had come to watch the future of their people unfold. But Preliat saw only ruin and failure from Arrbi. He knew the shortcomings of Azrael. Az had shortcomings- like any man would. He had, however, done them right. That is what Preliat respected the most about him- he had bent, but had never broken. In the darkness swirling around him, Azrael was the one who could hold the torch to lead them out from it. Arrbi- while respectable, commendable, capable and tenacious- in Preliat's opinion was not fit for the title of Manda'lor. He was unworthy.

And come what may, Preliat knew right then and there that he would not kneel to Arrbi, if he were to succeed in the duel. Preliat had lost nearly every thing- his wife. His child. His friends. His mind, nearly. He would rather become Dar'manda, rather become soulless and hollow, rather than follow an unworthy Manda'lor.

So he waited, but never once did his face shift, or his eyes remove themselves from their piercing gaze. Preliat, for the first time in many years, became nervous and slightly afraid for his future, and more importantly, the future of his people.

 

[Bear]

There wasn't much that would rouse the bear from his hibernation, but with the coming of promised spring, the beast had lumbered from its hidden lair where it had bedded down for the winter. Plodding along, shoulders hunched as though his upper body were too heavy for his spine, Emberli cast his gaze upon the ring. He had remembered his last fight for the title of Mandalore, one in which he were challenged by a member of the Viszla clan.

A man slain by Emberli's own hand, allowing him to take the ancient Darksaber for a trophy. It was safe and secure, and no one even remembered he had it. But he didn't, for obvious reasons. It was a symbol that he had been tested and won.

So, standing near the edge of the ring, arms folded across his barrrel chest, Emberli settled his battered old visor on the fight to come and waited.

This should prove interesting, at the very least.

 

[The Spark]

Apathetic to the events unfolding - Aaralyn kept to herself as she held limited stake in the direct issue at hand, or atleast that is how she felt. She held no direct allegiance to either side, regardless of her relations to [member="Strider Garon"] and his son. Aaralyn never conveyed her feelings about the lack of commitment to family and the Six Actions on part of Garon and his clansmen. Perhaps it was because she never committed herself to such an ideal and went away from the culture early on. Maybe it was because in a was – she was an outsider.

Perhaps.

[member="Mira Gyndar"], on the other hand, was no outsider. Her daughter had committed herself to both the Resol’nare and the Jedi, by any means possible. She fought valiantly against the darkness, wounded a dark lord and was left for dead – while no one within Clan Garon bothered to look for her when word came across she was missing. On the other hand, the Jedi mounted a small search effort that produced nothing more than some clues which allowed limited results, but the Mandalorians had better resources and tools yet did nothing. Is that what family was about? One of the more important pillars of the Resol’nare?

No, it wasn’t.

Aaralyn had ended up leaving with her son and husband in tow and even went beyond when [member="Falcon Gyndar"] was called back by his vod for duty, and even further when others had given up hope. It took time and great effort but she found her broken child and confronted her. After that confrontation, Mira found some piece of her former self and fled with nothing behind for Aaralyn to follow. Now, the mother was burdened with guilt and even angst towards those who should have helped, and did nothing. There was more to the Galaxy than the One Sith – even the smallest of pieces can change the tide of war. There was so much consumption within the Mandalorian culture about war that they were forgetting what they were about. Maybe she was just raised different by a different kind of man – Ember was unique. Family was everything and those he surrounded himself with shared similar values.
Maybe, just maybe, things were different.

But who was she in this grand culture clash to be on one side or another? No one, but she did not share the same views at Strider – so after some thought, she’d find herself looking to the challenger and cheering him on silently.

[member="Anija Betna"] | [member="Arrbi Betna"] | [member="Azrael"] | [member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Preliat Mantis"] | [member="Muad Dib"]

 

[Briika Munin]

This was a big moment in Mando'ade history. Briika wanted to be there to witness the future unfold. She had also brought her eleven year old ad, [member="Mesh'la Hokan"], along as the young girl was preparing for her verd'goten in the next year and needed to see what being Mando'ad was all about.

Whether [member="Azrael"] retained the title of Mand'alor or [member="Arrbi Betna"] ascended to it each by traditional means of a warrior, the blonde baar'ur was neutral in the matter of whom should lead them; each ner vod having pros and cons to being the Mandalorians' sole ruler. Anyways, what happened here would determine the path to which the Mando'ade took with or without her voice at the moment; just eyes would count as her blue ones looked upon the match.

Finding a spot on the sideline about mid center to watch the fight from, Briika saved a place for her riduur, [member="Graad Hokan"], should the rugged Concordian get back in time from his latest merc job, and her vod'ika, [member="Kad Tor"], though the goran was usually preoccupied these days.

Bree gave her "little twin" a reassuring look. Mesh'la was anxious as [member="Mirshko Betna"]'s buir was the challenger here, and the young brunette was her friend.

 

[Judah Lesan]

Graad was rushing back. He wanted to watch the battle play out as it was important for the future of his people. This was historic as Graad had never witnessed a duel like this. Most of the residents of Concordia were outside of all the politics. That is what this was. No matter how anyone wanted to put it, this was a political play. The battle was about two different directions for the future of the people, and the winner would decided. The people would though as well. Graad was prepared to leave Manda'yaim if things turned for the worst. With the enemy at the door, his primary focus was his pregnant riduur and his adopted daughter. They were his world.

[member="Briika Hokan"] stood in the center, with an open place for him. The challenge was already underway, and that fine with Graad. He was there to watch, and remain silent. The most involvement he would have would be to ensure outsiders did not interfere. Should anyone choose to interfere honor demanded their death, and Graad would gladly be the instrument. This was serious business.

"Su'cuy ner cyar'ika," he whispered to Briika as he joined her at her side. He placed his forehead to hers as the most public display of affection he'd offer at this time. Later they would engage in a reunion in a way only true lovers could. A loving hand went to [member="Mesh'la Hokan"]'s shoulder as well. They would watch this together. For now the attention was on who would be their next leader, or if nothing would change. Oh and boy eyeing his blonde ad.

 

[Malcom Renolds]

"The winner will be Mandalore. While that person is technically over us all. The individual clans still play an important role. He is the figure head in times when war or some other situation affects all the clans. But in times of peace, generally speaking the clans still maintain autonomy over themselves. As for the match to the death bit. It doesn't have to be. It depends on what the challenger and leader decide on. It could be, but it could also be a fight till someone yields. We'll just have to see." When she inquired about learning about hi culture, Malcom smiled. He was always proud to talk about his people, it was just a rare thing to see someone that was interested that wasn't Mandalorian themselves.

"If you like. Of course." Is how he replied. Though he did find it interesting on how she asked. That was the first time he had heard her mention anything about her past life. He would have to ask about it later. For now though, his attention would turn back to the arena. A challenge for Mandalore was not an every day occurrence, and he didn't want to miss a second of it.

He did notice the area surrounding the ring was filling up with his brethren. All interested of course to see who would be leading the Mandalorian people as a whole. With the speeches out of the way, it would only be a matter of seconds before "deliberations" on on who their future leader would be, would begin.

[member="Kenna Raine"]